Kimonomono!

In Japanese, "mono" means "thing(s)". Hence the terrible joke that is this post's title.




You may have already guessed, but this weekend, I purchased a kimono! Shinobu, my friend and coworker, has been taking kimono lessons* for over a year now, and readily accepted the challenge of fitting my over-large gaikokujin self into traditional Japanese clothing. Caitlin was along as well; we both spent two hours trying on kimono, browsing the shop, and purchasing the required accessories for each. Kimono are mostly made to be one-size-fits-all, since they used to be lifetime outfits, so they are adjustable according to your height and rotundity - my problem was sleeve length, as I have a bigger shoulder frame and bust than most Japanese women, and so my sleeves would be several inches too short. However, both Caitlin and I finally found kimono we were satisfied with.

Of course, that was only the first step. With a kimono, one must purchase an obi. But of course, you say; everyone knows that kimono must come with obi. Having lived in Japan a while, I also knew that one must purchase kimono underwear (a shorter, lighter kimono, often pink or white polyester, to wear under the actual silk one), as well as several cloth ties - four, as it turns out - to secure the garment, as well as what I thought to be a ceremonial cloth-or-rope tie that is tied directly over one's obi. No sweat... or so I thought. At the end of the day, I ended up with all of that plus a small, oval pad that one needs to hoist up the obi, a nice piece of cloth to cover said pad, a stiff cardboard or cloth strip to put in the obi in front so that it doesn't bend when you do, and a simple wrap-around cloth that goes under the obi to secure the fabric of your kimono.

All of this came to roughly $100 CAD, which is actually incredibly cheap: we went to a used kimono store. New kimono retail at anywhere from $500 CAD to thousands of dollars for ceremonial or wedding kimono. I didn't even buy the tabi and zori (special socks and sandal-shoes) needed, since I knew there was no way I would ever find them in my size. This was about three hours of exhaustion; we headed back to my apartment post-haste to sit and unwind.

After we had rested a bit, Shinobu gave Caitlin and I an impromtu kimono lesson. This consisted of her tying us into all of our gear as I took furious notes, photos, and tried to remember the steps. The kimono we bought are winter kimono, and so we were quite warm; in addition, kimono are made of silk, and so are heavier than you'd think by just looking at them. Once we'd been tied into our beautiful clothing, Shinobu took a few pictures, and then told us to take them off. Easier said than done - everything has to be taken off in the order it was tied on, and so it took longer than I'd thought. After this, Shinobu then encouraged us to try and put the kimono on by ourselves. We got as far as the obi (about 1/3 of the way), the stiff, thick fabric of which proved to be nigh-impossible to tie behind one's back, though Caitlin got farther than I.

I'm very glad I was able to buy it - it's a souvenir of my time here that I can keep for my entire life. The colours of my kimono (deep blue with gold detail) and obi (deep red/burgundy with silver detail) will be just as appropriate in fifty years as they are now, and so I can continue to wear it for as long as I am able to get myself into it. Which may or may not be true of this very moment in time: I need to practice.

*Yes, you need lessons in order to be able to wear them properly. In addition to the complicated business of putting it on, you also need to know The Rules when it comes to what kind of kimono you can wear to which occasion, who can wear it, and etc.